talking about getting stoned is the new getting stoned


disasters of a diarist

This is a page from my journal nearly 10 years ago. The polaroid is a picture of my face in the rear view mirror of the Fiat. I still have the polaroid (framed, directly above the kitchen light switch) but my face has faded from it. There’s just a cloudy greyness now. Kinda symbolic. Maybe me digitising this is a way of getting my face back. But that’s far too thoughtful for a Saturday night (especially for a Saturday night with a major rugby game going on [apparently]). So onto the next subject.

Something we’ve been discussing for a while now: talking about getting stoned is the new getting stoned. It’s something we do in the weekend. Talk about it, I mean. Like, what if we were stoned right now?

It’s the power of suggestion. Sometimes just talking about it makes me slightly heady, or lightheaded (are they the same thing – heady and lightheaded – or complete opposites?)

e.g. driving around Oriental Bay on a sunny Sunday. e.g. waking up from a Sunday nap, thinking what now?

To actually get stoned after all this talking about it might be an anticlimax. We’ve found our own weekend pastime/safe nostalgia, and I’m okay with that. Getting older makes for pretty good times, actually.

Oh, and we won the rugby. Convincingly, the internet tells me.


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